


Friends in a hopeless place

by emilyslist



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, I don't know, Loneliness, Sadness, Willowson - Freeform, bunsen burner, burns and beakers, happiness, mature themes, part of a longer series?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-05-27 14:37:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6288439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilyslist/pseuds/emilyslist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This new world is creepy, spooky and dangerous, but it's a whole lot nicer when you have a friend. Follow Wilson and Willow as they make friends with each other in the world of Don't Starve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet-cute

He had survived the murderous cries of the Hounds, the bloodthirsty snarls of spiders, and even the horrifying music box-like call of the fire-stealer, but only at this new sound did Wilson freeze in his tracks.

He blinked. As it used to whenever he conducted experiments, Wilson’s brain categorized his thoughts into the most plausible explanations and rationales that could arise from the startling noise.

First and foremost: he could have imagined it. It was entirely possible and very probable, seeing as he’d spent a bit more time than he would have liked lingering around the dark part of the woods with the creepy flowers, which always seemed to take a toll on his sanity. And even if he hadn’t imagined it—he had definitely noted some birds fleeing from the source of the noise—there were plenty of explanations. A trick of Maxwell’s, a strange new animal’s cry, a distant echo…?

But then he heard it again, and his list of rationales evaporated. It was, without a doubt, a woman’s scream.

Wilson hated having his options reduced to their most primal bones, fight or flight, but this world often forced him into that situation. This time, he would fight.

He raced in the direction of the cry, hearing more noises as he got closer: the rustling of pine needles, quick footsteps, labored breathing. Acting on a hunch, he broke through the foliage only to come face to branch with a hulking Treeguard.

Thinking fast (well, as fast as he could think with his heart in his throat), Wilson tore off his backpack and pulled out his trusty ice staff. A few hits froze the piney monster in its tracks. Exhaling sharply, Wilson hastily planted a handful of the pine cones he kept in his pocket for such occasions and backed away as the thawing creature let out a pleased grunt and began to retreat.

Turning around, Wilson’s heart leapt right back up into his mouth at the sight of… a girl? A real, living, breathing, human, female…

Let’s not jump to conclusions, Wilson reminded himself. She (?) could always be another one of Maxwell’s tricks. Maybe she was one of those Kitsune-foxes he had read about?

The maybe-girl, who was lying on the ground a few steps away with a startled expression, started to scramble up, pulling something out of her pocket.

“Hey, hey! Whoa!” Wilson leapt back, holding up his staff. 

“Who are you? What are you?” The girl spat, producing a lighter from her pocket. “Tell me or I burn down the forest!”

“Hey! Take it easy! Is that a real lighter? Where did you get it? Are you real? It’s Wilson.”

The girl furrowed her brow, lowering the lighter. “What’s Wilson?”

“My name. Wilson P. Higgsbury. I’m a scientist. Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“A scientist?” She cocked her head.

“Yes. A gentleman scientist, I like to fancy myself. I work alone.” 

“So, a wannabe scientist?”

Wilson’s normally measured temper flared, as it did whenever his scientific legitimacy was threatened, and he was about to deliver his trademark “just-because-I’m-not-affiliated-with-a-university-doesn’t-mean-I’m-not-a-real-scientist” speech when he noticed the glint of laughter in her eyes.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, kicking at the ground. “Did I hit a nerve?”

“Oh--oh, no, it’s fine. I overreacted. Sorry.”

The girl’s face softened. Wilson weighed the movement and dropped his staff, raising his palms in a gesture of peace.

“It’s Willow.”

“What?”

She laughed—a musical, flutey sound. “My name. It’s Willow. See how that feels?”

Wilson cracked a grin. “Sorry. I tend to act without thinking sometimes.” He shouldered his backpack and got a good look at what he was almost sure was a human girl named Willow.

She had black hair divided into girlish pigtails, large pale eyes, and was white as a sheet save for her rosy cheeks. She wore a red blouse, long black skirt and black boots. The pigtails made her seem younger, but Wilson guessed she was in her early twenties. She seemed to have a weathered feel to her, like she had been through some rough times, but Wilson guessed it was probably due to this strange world.

“So what are you doing here, Willow?”

She sighed. “I honestly can’t remember. I woke up lying on the ground, and some tall jerk in a suit told me to get some food and then disappeared.” She shrugged. “So that’s what I’ve been doing—well, that and lighting fires. I was gathering more wood when that thing popped up.” She shuddered.

Wilson had to strain to pay attention to the rest of her story after she mentioned the “tall jerk in a suit.” He hated that guy—he’d used his own curiosity against him, the pretentious jerk.

“That would be Maxwell. He’s the reason we’re here. He tricked us. Well, he tricked me at least.” Too late, Wilson realized that he was in no proper mental state to recall the incident that had landed him here.

However, she didn’t seem to interested in the story. She merely scrunched up her face. “Stupid Maxwell.”

The two stood in awkward silence. Wilson was surprised that she wasn’t more curious about how he had landed there, but chose not to question it.

“How long have you been here? Do you have a camp set up?” Wilson asked, wanting to ask her a million things but needing to ask only a few.

“Just a fire pit. I’m trying to find gold so I can build a science machine. I guess I’ve been here three, maybe four days.”

“Oh, I’ve been here almost two weeks. I can give you some gold.” Her pale eyes brightened, but as soon as the words left his lips Wilson regretted it, having already thought of a better idea. “Oh—but it’s back at my camp. I’ve got a fire pit, a science machine, an alchemy engine…”

“Oh, wow. Really? Do you have a lot of wood and stuff? For fires?”

“Well, um, of course. I use grass tufts, mostly—”

“Oh, those are wonderful!”

Gauging her happiness and, therefore, willingness to agree, Wilson took the leap.

“Want to camp with me? We could team up. It would be a lot easier. To survive, I mean.”

Willow laughed again, and Wilson’s heart dropped. “Of course, ha! I had assumed we would be! I was hoping you’d ask.”

Wilson breathed a sigh of relief. “Perfect. I’ll lead you back.” Ideas were forming fast in Wilson’s head, and he felt almost giddy. New possibilities excited him more than the radio show with that Sagan professor he used to listen to back home.

“Once we get back, I’ll give you my shovel. Dig up some grass tufts for fuel and pick as many berries and carrots as you can. I could also use some more flint… Oh! Take my axe, too, and get some wood. I’ve been needing more boards.” Wilson paused, so caught up in his new plans and ideas that he had neglected to pay attention to Willow. To his relief, she seemed fine with his plans.

“So, lots of fuel and food. What will you be doing?”

“I found a great marsh biome up north from here. I’ve been needing some more reeds, so I was heading up there. I might not be back until night. Can you get a fire going?”

“Can I!” Willow laughed again, not quite as musical as the first time. More maniacal. “It’s what I do best!” She whipped out her lighter again and flicked it on. “Isn’t it pretty?”

“I’ve always been a fan of fire,” Wilson agreed, though he was a bit disconcerted by how lovingly she stared at the flame. “It’s such an important component to science.”

“Yeah! Burn!” She replied.

Wilson smiled uneasily.

“Oh! Here we are,” he said as he spotted a trap of his, indicating proximity to his camp. “My shovel’s over there. Here’s my axe. Gather whatever you can and get back here before nighttime. Sound good?”

Willow reluctantly flicked the lighter off, but gave him a smile anyway. “Sure thing, partner.”


	2. Dinnertime

“The days are getting shorter,” Wilson remarked over dinner one night. They had been working together for about five days, and dinnertime conversations were a favorite of Willow’s. Even if their only food was berries and a morsel of rabbit meat, and even if the only topics of conversation were about allotting time for traveling and refining materials, it was relieving to be able to speak to someone.

 

“I’ve noticed,” Willow replied, tearing her gaze away from the fire to look at him. “What do you think it means?”

 

Wilson gazed at the dusk sky. “It means that summer isn’t the only season.”

 

“Ugh. You mean winter’s coming?” Willow scrunched up her nose.

 

“I’m afraid so. Unless this world is even weirder than I thought, and the days are just getting shorter arbitrarily… but I doubt it.”

 

Willow shuddered. The only thing she hated more than cold things were wet things, and the only thing she hated more than wet things were  _ cold  _ wet things. “You hate winter too?”

 

“Well, it’s not that I  _ hate  _ it—it’ll just make things a bit more difficult around here.” He took a bite of corn. “Namely, harder to get food. These farms won’t sustain us much longer if it starts snowing. We’ll have to find another source of food, soon.”

 

“How about more traps? Or a birdcage?”

 

Wilson sighed. “I was trying to avoid that. I feel sort of guilty when we kill the rabbits.”

 

Willow rolled her eyes. “I don’t. Stupid rabbits.” She knew what he meant, though. She felt a little pang of  _ something  _ unsettling whenever she killed an innocent creature.

 

“Well, let’s try to build an icebox. We’ll need to find some gears, which involves gravedigging, but you can handle that, right?”

 

“Good idea,” Willow murmured. She had doubted at first if he was actually a scientist—his remarks about the evergreens being “all piney” were funny, but not very… well, scientific. However, her doubts had been extinguished soon enough by hearing him think aloud and seeing his ideas take shape. How could she have survived without him? He always knew just where to place bee mines and tooth traps, when to venture out at night to gather fireflies, and precisely how many times he could attack a spider without getting hurt. His attire and demeanor also definitely fit the caricature of a scientist. His red-striped waistcoat was well-tailored, as were his smart black slacks, and his wild black hair and dark-circled eyes suggested many a late night spent in the pursuit of discovery. Wilson P. Higgsbury was the real deal.

 

Then again, her help was nothing to laugh at. Her lighter was extremely useful on the rare occasions when Wilson miscalculated when night would fall and they needed an emergency source of light. She was also great at gravedigging and other creepy activities, as simply sitting by the fire cleared her mind. She hoped he wouldn’t notice the poor cut of her blouse and skirt--he clearly came from a higher society.

 

Willow frowned at that last worry. She usually didn’t care what people thought of her, especially not scientists she barely knew. Maybe she’d spent a bit too much time gathering evil flowers to create nightmare fuel and needed a good sleep to clear her head. She finished up her hot pumpkin and started to snuggle into her straw roll.

 

However, just as she was about to drift off, she heard a strange sound—like heavy, guttural breathing.

 

Wilson straightened up immediately, his eyes widening as he whipped his head around. “Did you hear that?”

 

Willow nodded, climbing out of her straw roll and reaching for her spear. The deep noise continued.

 

“Show yourself!” She commanded, blushing a bit at the unintended shrillness.

 

“It’s the Hounds.” Wilson grabbed his ice staff. “I’ll handle it.”

 

The whining gasps grew closer and closer until Willow could see red eyes and sharp, hungry teeth looming all too close to the camp. Three pairs of eyes. Three sets of teeth. 

 

Wilson threw three blasts from his ice staff, and Willow started to relax. But then…

 

As Wilson geared up for the fourth blast, the staff shattered in his hand.

 

Wilson stumbled backwards as the Hounds started to thaw. “Willow,” he whispered. “Run. I’ll hold them off.” He picked up Willow’s spear.

 

“What?! There’s no way you can do that! There’s too many of them!”

 

“I can do it!” He lied, his voice shaking. “Run!”

 

Willow picked herself up and began to obey, then stopped. She wasn’t going to be left alone again if she could help it. She flicked on her lighter and started to yell.

 

“Hey, you mangy mutts! Over here!”

 

“Willow? What in God’s name—”

 

It was too late. The Hounds stopped advancing towards Wilson and fixed their hungry gaze on Willow.

 

“Come on! Get some!” She shouted as she began to run to the woods, hoping to God this idea would work.

 

“Willow! No!”  _ Was that a catch in his voice?  _ She had no time to ponder it.

 

She ran and ran. She had to make sure she was far enough away from Wilson and the camp, and in the correct biome, for her plan to have the greatest effect. Just as she could feel the hot, wet breath on her heels, she held up the small flame to the nearest tree.

 

The effect was instantaneous. The tree burst into flame, as did its neighbor, and the one next to it, and the one next to that.… Within seconds the forest was ablaze, as were the now-squealing Hounds. She slowed to a walk and gazed in awe as saplings, bushes and trees alike were consumed by the all-powerful fire.

 

Willow stood, transfixed by the flames, until she heard heavy panting coming from behind her as the fires died down.

 

“My… Willow! My God! You scared me! I mean, that was brilliant, of course… couldn’t have done it better myself… but my God! I was worried!”

 

Willow rolled her eyes. “Oh, Wilson, I’m fine.”

 

He huffed. “Well, I didn’t know that!” 

 

“Now you do.”

  
Wilson opened his mouth, then shut it. “Oh, well. You’re safe, they’re dead, it’s fine. Good job back there.” He turned back towards the camp. “Now to worry about winter.”


	3. Exploring

“We ought to explore a bit more before winter comes,” Wilson said the next morning after Willow sleepily scarfed down a breakfast of roasted carrots and berries. “I’m guessing we won’t get very far once the temperature starts dropping.”

 

“Why?” Willow grunted, rubbing her eyes. “We can always just set some stuff on fire for warmth.”

 

“We-e-elllll… yeah, I guess, but that’s not very sustainable, or safe, or reliable. Plus it’s a waste of resources.” Wilson winced in remembrance of the forest Willow had burnt down while fleeing the Hounds. “I don’t know how big this world is, and burning things can be costly in the long run.”

 

Willow glowered at him. “Whatever. I’m gonna do it anyway.” She grabbed her backpack and flicked on her lighter for some comfort. “Let’s go.”

 

Wilson consulted their compass. “We haven’t traveled much around the southern region here. Let’s start there.”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

The two set off out of the happy green grasslands and began the day’s work. First, they crossed through their neighboring savannah. Willow wrinkled her nose immediately. “Eeeewwww, what’s that smell?”

 

Wilson squinted, then exclaimed, “It’s a Beefalo! Well, several of them, actually.” The large, sedentary beast glanced up at him, then resumed grazing. “They must have migrated farther north. Easier to collect their droppings!”

 

Willow noticed a pile of manure. “Ugh. Gross. But useful.”

 

“Let’s fill our pockets,” Wilson laughed. “We’ll need to fertilize our farms before winter comes.”

 

After being sufficiently weighted down with poop, the two reached a dark forest cluttered with trees. Luckily, there was a clear-cut path through the dense branches. Unluckily, the path stopped short after a while.

 

“Let’s keep going,” Wilson urged. “It looks like there’s a clearing up ahead. And don’t light anything on fire!” He warned just in time, as Willow was getting that maniacal look that suggested she was about to do just that. “I’m not used to it like you are. I’ll get burnt. Plus it’s a waste.”

 

Willow pouted. “Hmph. You’re no fun.”

 

Wilson sighed and led the way through the underbrush. “Hey, do you hear that? Sounds like flies.”

 

“Yeah, I do.”

 

The two entered a small break between the trees and were greeted by a macabre sight: four rotting pigs’ heads speared on stakes surrounding a strange mess of bone and rock on a square wooden platform.

 

After a shocked silence, Willow mused, “I guess we have it alright.”

 

“Looks like an offering to the beast.” Wilson shifted around a few of the rocks and bones, trying to salvage something, and jumped back when the fragments began to rearrange themselves into the shape of an odd, octagonal stone.

 

“A Touchstone?” Wilson said, noting the markings around the strange object. “I guess I should touch it?”

 

“What an odd-looking stone,” Willow murmured.

 

After a moment’s hesitation, Wilson bent down and ran his fingers over the smooth rock. “Feels like obsidian. Eh, maybe not. I’m not a geologist.”

 

_ Finally, something he doesn’t know _ , Willow thought. “What did you study?”

 

“Chemistry, alchemy, and engineering,” Wilson replied dreamily. “Fascinating stuff.”

 

“Mmm, I like chemistry. Lots of fire.”

 

Wilson smiled. “Sure, let’s go with that.” Willow punched him playfully.

 

Soon, they came to a marsh. Willow wrinkled her nose at the smell of decaying fish as they traipsed through the threatening purplish muck. The strange marshes were by far the worst part of this place, Willow thought. They lured you in with the promise of plentiful resources only to stab you in the back with a spiked tentacle or Merm fin.

 

“Ah! Jackpot!” Wilson said suddenly, startling Willow.

 

“Jeez, Wilson! Don’t do that in the middle of a marsh!” She snapped, using anger to cover up her fear.

 

“Sorry! Sorry! But look at that!” Wilson pointed at a mound of fish, frog legs, spider glands, silk, and monster meat near a Merm hut. “The Merms and spiders must have gotten in a fight!”

 

“Oh, wonderful! So many free resources!” Willow chirped. However, she couldn’t shake something in the back of her mind whispering “ _ nothing in life is free. _ ” How could there be no survivors from a simple fight between spiders and Merms?

 

Wilson hurried over to gather the food and materials. “C’mon, Willow! Lend a hand!”

 

Willow was just about to come up with a snarky reply when she heard an ominous rumbling sound and noticed the ground around Wilson’s feet start to bubble and gurgle.

 

“Wilson!” She cried. “Watch out!”

 

He whipped his head around to face her just as a huge, spiked, purple tentacle, the stuff of absolute nightmares, snapped out of the ground and struck him in the back. The hit was so powerful that it shattered his football helmet and threw him ten feet in the opposite direction of Willow.

 

“Are you okay?!” 

 

“I… I think so.” Wilson shakily got to his knees. “Should have been more care--”

 

He didn’t have the time to finish the thought before a second purple tendril breached the murky swamp and impaled him straight through the chest.

 

Willow screamed as Wilson was flung back to her like a rag doll, blood staining his white shirt through the tear in his waistcoat. She tried to run, but her legs seemed to have frozen and turned to mush all at once. Willow sank to her knees, disregarding dignity, and crawled towards him, trying unsuccessfully to pull some healing salve out of her backpack.

 

“Wilson? W-Wilson? Please… come on, you’re okay…”

 

Wilson coughed, spraying blood over his bluish lips. His already-pale skin was turning white and clammy, and his breathing was harsh and labored.

 

“Wilson? You can’t do this… you can’t leave me here alone! Get up! Get up, stupid!! Come on!!” Willow almost pounded him with her fist and became so horrified at the prospect of what she could have done that she collapsed altogether. “Wilson, please….”

 

“Willow?” He half-croaked, half-breathed. “I… I’m…”

 

He coughed again, then gasped for breath, and his head rolled limply to the side. His black eyes glassed over, looking straight at her, unseeing.

 

“Wilson?”  _ Please, no. Not now _ . “Wilson?”

 

The body didn’t answer.

 

“Wilson, you jerk, you can’t do this to me! You can’t just l-leave me here…” her plea choked off with a sob and she briefly felt the wild need to fling herself at the offending tentacles and beg for them to take her too. What was she supposed to do? What  _ could  _ she do?

 

She felt the inside of his wrist and neck. Cold. Nothing. Her hand was being guided by a force other than her brain as she flicked on her lighter. The spray of sparks as the tiny flame roared to life spread a calming, familiar feeling throughout her whole body, like sinking into a hot bath after a rainy day, and she felt her mind clearing as though her nose were becoming unstuffed after the flu.

 

Wilson’s body started to blur and melt as whatever stuff that had been clouding up her brain drained out through her eyes.

 

“Wilson…” she whispered one last time. 

 

She blinked once, to clear her eyes, and then slowly lowered her arm and touched the flame to the sleeve of his shirt.

 

It caught quickly, too quickly for it to be natural. Willow jumped back--she wasn’t sure why, the flames wouldn’t hurt her--and looked on, intrigued and horrified, as the flames engulfed her friend’s body.

 

It both took too long and was over too fast. Willow wiped her eyes with her sleeve and was grateful for the darkness. 

 

She sat there numbly, her arm covering her eyes, frozen in a moment of grief, until she heard a strange sound from the forest. It almost sounded like a person yelling.

 

She scrambled to her feet, almost toppling over in her haste.  _ Another survivor _ ? Had Wilson’s death somehow brought someone else here? She rushed towards the sound blindly, guided only by her ears.

 

“Hello?” She called out, surprised at how hoarse her voice sounded. “Is someone there?”

 

“Willow? Willow!”

 

_ What?  _

 

“Are--who are you? Hello?” Her throat stung as her strained voice attempted a higher octave.

 

“Willow! It’s me! Wilson!”

 

Before she could retort or raise a weapon to what was clearly an imposter, a perfect replica of the man whose body she had just cremated came stumbling out of the woods.

 

“Okay, please don’t panic,” he insisted as she began to do just that. “It was that stone! The obsidian! Did you see the lightning? I just woke up and I was over there! It’s really me! I’m okay!” He looked tired, his face a bit sweaty, but he was grinning more widely than she had ever seen.

 

“Is it… really you?” She felt a strange feeling rising in her chest, like she wanted to cry and laugh and scream all at once. 

 

“Yes! I’ll prove it. We met about eight days ago. I saved you from the Treeguard, remember? With my ice staff. You saved us from the Hounds with your lighter, and--oomph!”

 

His next proof was cut short by Willow’s shoulder as she clenched him in a stifling hug. He didn’t need facts to prove who he was--those kinds of ramblings could only belong to him

 

“I was really, really scared, Wilson,” she whispered. “Please be more careful.” She sniffed, not caring anymore if he saw her cry.

 

“I… I will,” he said, pulling away. “For my sake. Now, let’s go get our stuff.”

 

“ _ I’ll  _ go get our stuff, stupid,” Willow admonished. “You stay here and keep safe.”

  
“Alright, alright.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I owe it to you.”


	4. Winter is Coming

One morning a few days later, Wilson found that the strange world had become even stranger. He had stayed up that night while Willow slept, weaving rope and designing new inventions, when he was greeted with an odd chill in the air and an entirely new color palette. A thin film of silvery frost covered the grass, the sky had turned a cold shade of bluish gray, and the caramel-colored rabbits hopping about now wore snowy-white coats.

 

Wilson blinked. How could the seasons have changed literally overnight? His mind jumped ahead, quickly reformulating all the plans he’d had in mind for the winter he’d assumed would arrive gradually. He hoped the farms would still bear food; he’d need to fertilize them heavily to ensure a good crop for the winter. Luckily, he had stored quite a bit of manure in anticipation. He hastily picked and stored away the fruits and vegetables that had grown overnight, then planted and fertilized a new batch. Next, he checked on his supply of Beefalo wool. He definitely had enough for two hats, but he wasn’t sure about vests. As he wove the second hat, he suddenly thought of Willow. He briefly considered waking her up, but quickly reconsidered. He didn’t really take her to be a morning person.

 

The hats finished, Wilson moved on to thermal stones. He had made two already, it turned out--what was this place doing to his memory?--and so he moved on to an extra drying rack and a few more traps, both bird and rabbit. As he worked, though, his mind began to drift--very dangerous when he was alone, as the mystery and desolation of this place proved to be too much for his psyche at times. He ached for something constructive to do...

 

Suddenly, it came to him. “ _ Science _ is the answer!” He cried aloud, plans forming in his head immediately for a brand-new winter invention.

 

Roused by the shout, Willow woke up to the sounds of mechanical tinkering coming from outside her tent. She stepped outside, bleary-eyed and shivering slightly, and was greeted by the sight of her scientist friend standing proudly next to a gigantic thermometer.

 

“Uh… you must have a pretty bad fever,” she quipped, startling him.

 

“Ah! Very funny, Miss Willow,” Wilson chuckled, pushing some singed hair out of his face. “I present… the thermal measurer! It’ll tell us how warm or cold it’ll be for the coming days. That way, we don’t have to worry about getting caught in a blizzard unprepared!” He shook his head with a satisfied grin. “I am one heck of a scientist.”

 

A laugh bubbled out of Willow before she could stop it. She doubled over, wheezing, almost crying at the singular hilarity of a statement only Wilson P. Higgsbury could make.

 

“You certainly are…  _ unique _ ,” she gasped after regaining a bit of composure. 

 

Wilson grinned bashfully. “Well, uniqueness won’t get us through this winter.”

 

“Neither will forgetting to set a fire,” she admonished, throwing a tuft of grass on the dying embers in the fire pit. Her snarky mood dissipated as soon as the flames roared to life, and she kneeled down in dreamy adoration. “Don’t worry. We’ll make it.” As her eyes cleared up and her mind adjusted, she frowned. Was something different about Wilson today? She looked up at him, her brow furrowed.

 

“Something on my face?” He asked, noticing her stare.

 

Willow laughed shortly. “Uh, you tell me, old man of the mountain.”

 

“Hm? Oh!” Wilson clapped his hands to his reddening cheeks. He had been shaving regularly (very hygienically, with a sharp rock tied to a stick) every morning ever since he’d arrived in this place, and Willow hadn’t yet seen him with a beard. “I completely forgot to shave this morning! Well, understandable. The weather took me off guard. I’ll just get rid of this…”

 

“No, wait!” Willow smiled. “I like it. Very rugged.”

 

“You--you what?” Wilson almost choked on his words. “Why?”

 

Willow shrugged. “You should keep it for winter. It’ll keep you warm.”

 

“Ah! Oh, yes, excellent idea. I’m warning you, though, it can get pretty long.” He was glad at the scientific explanation for her strange statement, but he worried (for some reason) about what she’d think of him if his beard reached its full length. It had only happened once before--he’d been so caught up in his work that he neglected any form of hygiene for nearly two weeks. When he finally managed to look in a mirror again, he looked like the spawn of Bigfoot and Cousin Itt. This could cause Willow to view him subconsciously as a threat, he rationalized, which was why he was self-conscious about her seeing him like that. 

 

She laughed her flutey laugh. “Nah, you should definitely grow it. You’ll look so… adventurous.”

 

“I suppose you’re right. Well, you better get used to it.”

 

“I already am! It does make you look pretty rugged.” She winked, then started to gather materials for the day’s journey.

 

He spent the rest of the day trying to rationalize her action, but to his dismay, couldn’t come up with any reasonable explanation. He chalked it up to “Willow’s quirks,” but he wasn’t satisfied.

 

Dusk offered a welcome reprieve. The two had just finished gathering and storing away all the food they could and were enjoying a light dinner of roasted carrots and eggs when it began to snow. Oddly mesmerized, Wilson watched as a fine coat of snow covered their farms, machines and chests.

 

“That is the opposite of fire,” Willow remarked dryly as she resumed eating. “Yuck, the yellow part is all runny.”

 

“Really? I love it like that,” Wilson replied, snapping out of his reverie. “Sunny-side yum!”

 

In spite of her mood, Willow giggled. “You’re such a goof.”

 

Wilson’s face flushed and he almost choked on his eggs. This, combined with the “rugged beard” comment, was proving to be too taxing to rationalize.

 

“Dammit, Willow!” He yelled, glaring at her. “Could you  _ please _ stop saying things like that?”

 

Wilson regretted it as soon as the laughter in Willow’s pale eyes gave way to surprise and hurt. 

 

“Wait--I--I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he apologized, scrambling to his feet. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be upset.”

 

“I’m not upset,” she grumbled, but her trembling lip told a different story. “What do you mean, ‘things like that?’”

 

“It’s nothing. Never mind. I’m sorry.” 

 

She sighed, and Wilson suddenly changed his mind. Better to nip the issue in the bud now than let it fester for later.

 

“It’s just… I can’t understand why you said that I looked ‘rugged.’” Willow lifted her head, her eyebrows drawing into a confused frown. “And… I don’t know… why did you call me a goof just now?”

 

“ _ Oh _ .” Willow sighed, then laughed softly. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings--”

 

“No, no! It wasn’t that. It’s just… I don’t know. Very… colloquial, I suppose? Almost…” The unspoken word bounced against his closed mouth like an unwelcome guest pounding on the door.  _ Flirty, flirty, flirty _ .

 

“Oh! Well… I…” She sighed again. “I’m a colloquial person, Wilson. I’m not from high society. I didn’t go to college. I barely finished high school. I’m not a genius like you.” Her voice got uncharacteristically quiet towards the end.

 

The unwelcome guest in Wilson’s head dissipated immediately. Finally, a rational explanation! It was merely his own ignorance of Willow’s upbringing that had caused all the confusion. “Don’t talk like that,” he smiled, relieved. “There’s nothing wrong with coming from a different culture. I should have been more mindful of that.”

 

“Really? You don’t think it’s… I don’t know, embarrassing?”

 

“Why would I think that?” That was genuine confusion. Had she been worried about this for some time now? “You’re perfectly capable, not to mention terrific at survival. And you put up with all my little quirks. I couldn’t care less about money, or education, or any of that stuff!” He waved his hand impatiently. “What I’m getting at is, there’s nothing wrong with how you speak. It’s just… I couldn’t think of why you were saying those things.”

 

Willow shrugged, masking her burgeoning happiness with a casual eye-roll. “I just say what’s on my mind.” She paused. “I guess I could try to watch my speech if it bothers you…”

 

“No! Absolutely not. Don’t change how you act for me.”  _ And besides _ , he admitted to himself,  _ it feels nice to be called a rugged genius _ . “Anyway, I’m going to turn in. Sorry again for losing my temper.”

 

As he drifted off to sleep, though, there was a small, nagging thought in the back of his mind… something he couldn’t quite place. He shook it off and closed his eyes. He’d had more than enough thinking for the day.

 

As he nodded off, Willow let out a sigh of relief. She had hoped all day that he hadn’t noticed her brash language (or her wink… where had that come from?!), but it turned out it was just a misunderstanding. 

 

_ What a nice man,  _ she thought as she listened to him breathe deeply. He seemed to have no prejudices against her origins, and he was so willing to understand every point of view. She couldn’t have picked a better partner with whom to avoid starving. Willow smiled to herself, then began to organize the materials in their chests.

 

Still, a thought nagged at the back of her mind too. Unlike Wilson, however, she could definitely place it.  _ Why did she care so much about what he thought of her? _

**Reviews are very much appreciated! I'd like some feedback and/or suggestions :)**

 


	5. A Sinking Feeling

 

The next day dawned clear and cold. Wilson’s new invention informed him that it was slightly above freezing outside, although he wouldn’t have known it from the roaring fire Willow had been stoking all night.

 

“We need more grass tufts,” Willow grunted at him as she threw the last one on the already dangerously-high flames.

 

“Dammit! I knew I was forgetting something,” Wilson chastised himself. “I’ll go get some today.”

 

“What else are we going to do?”

 

Wilson opened his mouth, then shut it with a frown. He had been so busy preparing for winter that he hadn’t thought about what to do during the season. It was too cold to really venture too far from their camp, even during the daytime.

 

“Uh… I actually hadn’t thought about that yet, to be honest,” he admitted. “I guess I’ll just collect the grass tufts… and maybe you can chop some wood or something?”

 

Willow did not look amused. 

 

“Um… maybe…” Wilson sighed. “Collect some charcoal?”

 

Willow’s eyes lit up and she scrambled to her feet. “Bye!”

 

“Willow! Willow, wait!”   
  


“What?!” She barked, turning on her heel. 

 

“Don’t burn too much down! Try to look for little groups of trees, not forests.”

 

Willow rolled her eyes, tapping her foot impatiently. “Yeah, yeah, I know, whatever.”

 

“And make sure you’re got your hat! And a thermal stone!” He shoved the stone into her hands and tossed her a freshly woven winter hat.

 

Willow looked at the winter gear with an odd expression, then tucked the stone in her pocket and pulled on the hat. “Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

 

“Be careful! And make sure to come back before dark! The stone will be less effective at dusk.”

 

“Bye!” Willow called again, but with a lighter cadence.

 

As she trudged off through the snow, Willow found more than her skin warmed by the stone. Wilson seemed to really care about her--his expression and warnings had shown genuine worry for her well-being. Was that actual care? Or was it just because he needed her to survive? No, that couldn’t be it… he had survived just fine on his own without her. If anything, she needed  _ him  _ to survive.

 

The feeling of being wanted combined with the specific task of burning things set Willow in high spirits. She quickly located a clump of evergreens on the edge of a marsh and happily went to town setting them on fire. After collecting their charred remains, she noticed a patch of gnarled, leafless trees a bit further into the marsh.

 

_ Hmmm… I bet the spiky trees burn just as well, and they don’t even have resources that can be wasted.  _ Entering the marsh (cautiously!), she made her way to the aggressive fauna and set about her business. Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of a strange-looking rock in the neighboring forest. She frowned. It looked almost like a clump of rocks thrown together instead of the large, smooth boulders they usually encountered. After collecting the charcoal, she made her way to the rock. Sure enough, it actually was a clump of small rocks, and now Willow could see how they held their shape--they were plugging a person-sized hole in the ground. She reached for her pickaxe, then hesitated. What if it was plugged for a reason?

 

Willow decided to clear a path through the snow and come back later with Wilson. It was better to have at least a semblance of a plan before combatting the unknown. It was odd, though--when she had first arrived in this world, she wouldn’t have given a second thought before smashing through that stone. Wilson’s careful nature was really rubbing off on her.

 

\--

 

“It looks like it’s been plugged up on purpose,” Wilson frowned, tapping the mound lightly with his pickaxe.

 

“Who would do that?” Willow muttered. “What’s down there that’s scarier than anything up here?”

 

“Only one way to find out.” He pulled his winter hat over his poofy hair and began to chip away at the stone. It crumbled even easier than most of the other rocks they’d found before.

 

The sinkhole revealed to be about a berry bush’s width and of immeasurable depth. Despite the rocks that had plugged it for who knew how long, it still had a sturdy-looking rope attached to its edge.

 

“After you.” Willow wrinkled her nose. “That’s one gross hole.”

 

“Are you kidding? I bet there’s all kinds of stuff to discover down there!” Wilson stowed away his pickaxe and climbed down into the hole. “C’mon, I’ll go first,” he said as he grabbed the rope.

 

Willow was about to follow when she realized something she hadn’t considered in a long time--she was wearing a skirt.

 

“Um, Wilson?” She called as he began to descend.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Maybe I should go first.”

 

“Aw, c’mon, Willow, I’m already down here. Just follow my lead.”

 

Willow debated if she really cared if Wilson saw her stockings, then shrugged. “Okay, Mr. Scientist.” She tightened the straps of her backpack and stowed away her lighter, then gingerly eased into the darkness. She soon realized that she shouldn’t have worried about her wardrobe choices--she could barely see two feet in front of her, and it was unlikely Wilson could either.

 

“Can you tell how deep it goes?” She called to him.

 

“Hold on, I’ll check.” She heard him rummaging around in his backpack, then the distant sound of a rock clattering to the ground.

 

“Hmm… should be just a few more yards.”

 

Wilson’s estimate (however he had managed to come to it) proved correct. A few minutes later, Willow heard a short cry and a thud.

 

“Are you okay?!” 

 

“Yeah, I’m fine! Just be careful, the rope stops a few feet short of the ground.”

 

“Okay.” Willow shimmied down the last length of the rope and hopped down next to Wilson--and the skeleton of a less fortunate spelunker.

 

“Oh, my,” Willow gasped as she noticed the bones. “I hope he went out in a blaze of glory.”

 

Wilson snorted. “Better him than us. He was probably less prepared!” Before Willow could react, he pulled off his winter hat and replaced it with an impressively-constructed miner’s cap complete with a massive headlight shining right into her eyes.

 

“Hey, watch it!” Willow scowled and brought her hands to her face.

 

“Sorry. Thought you liked stuff like that.”

 

“I do, but not right in my eyes!” She paused for a moment. “Um… do you have one for me?”

 

“Sorry. I’m not  _ that  _ prepared. But the light should cover a large radius. Just stick by me and keep your lighter on.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed, and the two began to explore.

 

The environment was dank, cool, and murky, and Willow had a sinking suspicion that if hell ever froze over and was in the process of melting, it would look like the caves. Luckily, the first patch of land they came to was at least somewhat familiar: a small blip of damp grassland covered with a clump of evergreens, saplings, and berry bushes.

 

“How do these grow without sunlight?” Willow wondered aloud as Wilson busied himself picking berries.

 

Wilson paused for a moment, then squinted up at the ceiling. “Ah, would you look at that. A natural skylight!”

 

Willow followed his gaze. She couldn’t quite see the opening, but there were some faint beams of sunlight shining down through the rocks. “Huh. Guess you didn’t need your hat after all.”

 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Wilson muttered. Right on cue, the light began to fade as dusk fell over the world above.

 

Willow shivered. “It’s creepy down here.”

 

“Yes, but it’s so interesting! Look over here!”

 

Willow wrinkled her nose. “Gross. It’s all mushroomy.” Willow hated stupid mushrooms anyway, but this one was huge, almost the size of one-and-a-half Wilsons, and seemed to glow an eerie green.

 

“Gotta agree with you there. I think these used to grow in my bathroom.”

 

Willow gave a hesitant laugh, not entirely sure if he was joking or not. “That big?”

 

He shrugged and grinned. “Eh, give or take. I’ve never been one for cleaning. We should get to harvesting these somehow, though--those green mushrooms can be really useful when we cook ‘em.”

 

After a bit of trial and error in determining whether or not the mushtrees could be harvested by hand, the two got to work chopping them down and collecting the wood and green caps.

 

“Hey, Wilson! Look at these!” Wilson followed the direction of her voice and saw another group of strange plants. The bases resembled those of tulips, but the buds were composed of perfectly spherical, glowing white bulbs that gave off a small radius of light.

 

“How do they glow? It’s like they’re burning inside!” Willow plucked a bulb from the plant and admired it. It gave off a small diameter of light, a bit larger than that of her lighter, and illuminated the maniacal gleam in her eye.

 

“Science makes them glow,” Wilson observed scientifically. “It looks like they give off light after being picked. Hmmm… I wonder if… ” Wilson took off his miner’s cap and plucked a bulb from another plant, stuffing it into the headlight. “Ha! I can use them as fuel! Not as efficient as fireflies, but definitely easier to obtain.”

 

Loaded down with mushrooms and the light bulbs, they made their way to a stretch of rocky terrain. “Ooh, Wilson, look! Another one!” Willow pointed at what appeared to be a different strain of the light bulbs. The bud hung from a droopy stem growing from the ground and glowed an electric blue color.

 

“That one almost looks like a fruit.”  _ Looks delicious _ , Wilson thought, then shook his head. He’d been here too long. Next thing he knew, he’d start seeing Willow as--

 

_ Hey, how is that thing growing, anyway _ ? Wilson thought scientifically, distracting himself from the very non-scientific thought that he’d been on the verge of realizing. As Willow skipped ahead to pick the glowing thing, Wilson studied the odd formation of rocks at the base of the plant. It appeared to be growing out of a small, anthill-like mound of pebbles that spread out from the base in a strange, wriggly formation. 

 

_ Strange. Almost looks like a…  _

 

Wilson’s eyes widened as the rocks, ever so slightly, began to shift.

 

“Willow!” He cried, stumbling forward. “Watch out!!”

 

Willow whipped her head around just as the glowing plant burst out of the ground, quickly followed by an enormous, blue-furred worm creature with a huge, toothy maw. It reared its eyeless head back and lunged at Willow. She tried to back out of the way but tripped and fell on the rocky terrain, her lighter clattering to the ground as the monster bore down on her. Wilson lunged towards her, but it was too late. The worm managed to drag its teeth through Willow’s completely unarmored body before diving back into the ground as though it were water.

 

“Willow!” Wilson scrambled to his feet and snatched up her lighter, knowing that she would want him to. The ground beneath his feet was rumbling, and he knew he had only seconds to act. Moving faster than he thought possible, he threw on a log suit and braced for impact. The creature managed to graze the back of his head enough to knock off his cap, but the suit bought him enough time and protection to grab Willow, his backpack, and his cap before the worm could emerge a third time.

 

Wilson staggered back through the light plants and mushtrees, acting on pure adrenaline. It didn’t ever occur to him that he would never have been able to move that fast or carry a full-grown woman before he came to the island, nor that he was actually badly hurt himself. Shock was a hell of a drug.

 

When he came to the rope to the surface, Wilson slung Willow’s motionless body over his shoulder and grabbed hold of the rope. The climb that had earlier seemed to take hours was over in no time at all. Pushing Willow out of the hole, he was about to stop and tend to Willow’s wounds when he heard a distant shrieking from within the sinkhole growing closer and closer. Without missing a beat, he picked her back up and ran for the camp.

 

As the flight-response nerves wore off, however, he became acutely aware of several things: 1) it would be dark soon; 2) he was freezing; and 3) Willow’s heartbeat was growing fainter.

 

Praying that they were far enough away from the cavern for the shrieking things not to find them, Wilson laid Willow out, gentler this time, and tried to get his senses back. A fire. He needed a fire. It was more difficult than usual with his trembling hands, and he remembered that he had barely made a single fire himself since meeting Willow. After finally getting one started, his thermal stone began to heat up, and he laid it next to Willow while he pulled on his warm hat. Now, he could finally assess Willow’s injuries (as well as his own) with a clear head.

 

He felt what little color he had drain from his face when he saw the deep bite marks across her neck and chest. Her eyelids were fluttering oddly over glassy eyes, and the skin that wasn’t covered in blood was a sickly gray.

 

He tore open his backpack and got out their stack of healing salves. (With Willow’s constant supply of ashes, they had a sizable amount.) Without thinking of what he was doing, he ripped open her shirt to apply the medicine directly to her wounds. Luckily, her underclothes hadn’t been too badly damaged at all--the brunt of her injuries seemed to be on her arms and sternum area. With a doctor’s precision, he dabbed the stinging salve over the deep gashes in her skin and exhaled in relief as he saw the wounds begin to heal before his eyes. He used some cut grass to mop away some of the excess blood, then began to attend to his own wounds, wincing at the sting of the venom. After he was sufficiently fixed up, he turned back to Willow to see if there were any spots that he’d missed.

 

The color returned to Wilson’s face in a deep blush when he realized what he would have to do in order to attend to the injuries on her chest. He was paralyzed between medical duty and gentlemanly honor when Willow began to stir and mumble something.

 

“Willow? W-Willow, are you okay?” His voice cracked and his throat felt oddly tight.

 

“It… it BURNS!!” She thrashed about, not fully awake. “But, where’s the fire?”

 

“The stinging means it’s working,” he assured her gently, trying to disguise the joy in his voice. “Are you okay?”

 

“What? Wilson? Where are we? I-I’m fine.” She attempted to sit up and yelped in pain.

 

“Hey, take it easy. We’re out of the caves. I couldn’t make it to the camp, but we’ve got a fire. I think I might have some seeds we can cook, and…” He trailed off as Willow began to understand what was going on.

 

“Why’d you rip my shirt?” She frowned, trying to fit together her torn blouse.

 

Despite the chilly night, Wilson’s cheeks were radiating heat. “O-oh! U-um, you see… I had t-to… you w-were… I… s-sorry, I…”

 

“Oh… gosh, I got hurt pretty bad, didn’t I?” Wilson’s face somehow got even redder as she peeked under her black lace undershirt to assess the damage. “Gimme some of that.”

 

“S-some… what? G-give you? What are you…”

 

Willow huffed impatiently. “The  _ salve _ , idiot! And start cooking those seeds!”

 

Wilson was a bit taken aback by her tone--even saltier than normal. Well, she was scared and injured. “Oh--yes, of course.” He handed her a bowl of the salve, then started digging some seeds out of his pocket. He concentrated on toasting them to perfection, trying very, very, very hard not to look at or even think about Willow applying the salve.

 

“Here we go! I know it’s not much, but…”

 

He lost his train of thought, and not for the same reason as earlier. Willow’s legs were curled up tightly beneath her, and her face was buried in the crook of her elbow. Her torn shirt fluttered in the wind, and her shoulders were heaving irregularly as she let out little choking sounds.

 

“I’m… I’m sick of this,” she whispered. “I’m just so  _ goddamn  _ sick of this!”

 

“Sick? Of… of what?”

 

“Of  _ everything _ , goddammit!” She shrieked, whipping her head around to glare at him. Something hurt in Wilson’s heart when he saw her face; her eyes were red and puffy, and tears were running down her cheeks. “I’m sick of being hungry all the time, and sleeping in stupid tents, and having to eat stupid rabbits and carrots and stale stupid seeds! I’m sick of everything t-trying to kill us! I’m sick of your stupid science and your stupid inventions and stupid Maxwell and this stupid island! I’m sick of those stupid shadows popping up and those jerk pigs not l-letting us in their houses! You stupid idiot… I’m just… I’m so… it’s all so…” She put her head in her hands and dissolved into unintelligible sobs.

 

Wilson blinked away his own tears and crawled towards her, awkwardly touching her shoulder. “Hey… Willow, don’t cry. Don’t cry, it’s okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

 

“It’s  _ not  _ okay. Y-you already died once,” she hiccupped, looking at him with angry wet eyes. “What happens if we die again?”

 

Wilson opened his mouth, then shut it. There was something stuck in his throat turning all his words into tears. Without really knowing what he was doing, Wilson leaned his head on her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight, suddenly afraid he would lose her, that he wouldn’t be able to survive anymore without her.

 

“It’s okay,” he repeated, his voice steady even as he wept. He was surprised by how small and thin she really was. Like fire, she burned long and hot, but once the flame went out there was little left. “It’s okay. We’re going to be okay. Don’t cry.”

  
Willow cried into his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck. They stayed there in that cold, terrified embrace until Willow realized that the fire was going out and scrambled to stoke it.


	6. Just Science

The fire roared to life and bathed them both in a comforting, homey yellow light. It felt so good to his cold, stiff body that, for a moment, Wilson almost understood Willow’s crazed obsession with flames. Yet as lovely the sensation was to him, it was working much greater wonders for Willow. He saw her cheeks regain their pink hue as the glow wash over them, and a bit of her old maniacal gleam was now evident in her now-dry eyes. However, her expression remained blank as she knelt and stared vacantly into the flames.

 

“Your backside is going to get cold,” Wilson warned, attempting a laugh.

 

“Don’t care.”

 

He put a thermal stone behind her anyway, just in case.

 

“Thanks.” She rubbed her red eyes and took a deep breath. “Sorry.”

 

“For what? You haven’t done anything…”

 

“Don’t play dumb, you idiot.” She sighed. “I called you stupid.”

 

“You call everything stupid.”

 

She had to laugh at that. “Fair. But never you. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.”

 

“Willow, it’s fine. Really. I don’t care.”

 

“I got mad at you for dying!”

 

“You were bleeding half to death. I won’t fault you for what you said during shock. Anyway, enough of this. You need to eat something.” He held out some of the seeds. “I know it’s not great, but we’ll have a nice breakfast tomorrow.”

 

Willow’s face softened a bit as she accepted the meager meal. 

 

“I’m thinking of inventing something so we can have some better food. Some sort of cooking pot or something. I should have most of the materials already, so we can just stay at the base and rest a bit tomorrow.”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

The two passed the time eating seeds until Willow spotted a glimmer of sunlight on the horizon.

 

“The greatest fire of all,” she remarked dreamily.

 

“Let’s get back to camp,” Wilson said, consulting their map. “It’s not far.”

 

As they walked, Wilson noticed that Willow was still limping a bit. Despite the salves and calming fire, she was nowhere near 100%. Wordlessly, he slipped his arm under hers and around her shoulder to support her. She didn’t thank him, but didn’t push him away either, which surprised him. He thought about reminding her to get a good night’s sleep, but didn’t want to push his luck with her pride.

 

Back at camp, the two were delighted to see their numerous traps rustling with activity. Willow freed a redbird and a crow, killing the latter for its meat and imprisoning the former in their brand-new birdcage. Wilson overturned one of the ground traps and found a small, shivering rabbit. He picked it up and held it at eye height, and Willow noticed an odd, very ungentlemanly look in his eye.

 

“Do you like science?” He asked it quietly, stroking its ears. The bunny squealed as he tucked it away in one of their trunks.

 

“He looks tasty,” commented Willow, hovering.

 

“Oh, no. He’s not for eating,” he said mysteriously. “I have a new invention on the horizon.”

 

“One at a time, Mr. Scientist!”

 

“Oh, right! The cooking pot.” Wilson busied himself collecting some cut stones and sticks from their trunks. “Got any charcoal, Willow?”

 

“Oh, here--I still have the stuff from yesterday.” Willow turned out her pockets and handed him a huge heap of charcoal.

 

“Jeez, Willow! I said not to burn forests!”

 

“I burned a buncha spiky trees. No harm done.”

 

“Well, whatever. Now--science!”

 

Willow giggled and threw a tuft of grass on the fire. It seemed like she’d only been gazing into the flames for a few minutes when she heard a triumphant “Eureka!” She turned to see a plain gray crock pot and a very proud Wilson P. Higgsbury.

 

He read her arched eyebrows and chuckled. “I know it doesn’t look like much. But watch this!” He grabbed some small morsels of meat, some carrots, and some twigs and threw them into the pot. Willow’s eyebrows rose.

 

“It’ll take a while, but you won’t be disappointed!” Wilson reassured her.

 

“I better not be!”

 

They stood in silence for a while until a delicious smell began wafting through the air. “The fire is doing its thing!” Willow sighed happily. A few minutes later, Wilson opened the lid and retrieved two sticks skewered through chunks of meat and vegetables.

 

“Fancy a kabob, Miss Willow?” Wilson chuckled, not even trying to hide how pleased he was with himself.

 

“Gimme one of those!” The two tore into their meals, which were not only tasty and filling, but a welcome break from the monotony of simple cooked meat and veggies.

 

“Mmmm. Okay, I’ll hand it to you. That was pretty delicious,” Willow grinned after they were done.

 

Wilson laughed. “I’m glad you approve! I’m going to whip up something for tomorrow morning and stick it in the icebox. We’ll both be starving.”

 

Willow’s smile faded a bit. “Both? You’re sleeping tonight?”

 

“I’ve got to. I’ve got an awful headache, and I get crazy when I don’t sleep.”

 

“Have you forgotten about my numerous unhealed wounds and unstable sanity?” She asked through gritted teeth.

 

Wilson looked confused. “Well, I had assumed we could both sleep at the same… oh.”  _ Only one tent _ . “I guess I’ll just use a straw roll.”

 

“You’ll do no such thing! It’s freezing out!” Willow responded indignantly. “Just build another tent.”

 

“I don’t think we have the materials right now…” He began to rummage through their chests as Willow opened the tent flap.

 

“Hey! I didn’t realize how much room there was in here! We can both fit. We can huddle together, it’ll be extra warm.”

 

“Oh! Really? Yes! Why, of course! What a logical thing to do!” Wilson laughed once. “The food! For tomorrow. We’ll need lots.” He grabbed several eggs from the icebox and threw them whole into the crock pot.

 

Willow again arched an eyebrow. “Uh… yeah.” She leaned back onto a log to rest while he cooked their breakfast. Soon, the sunlight began to fade.

 

“Jeez, already? The days sure are short in winter.” She yawned and winced. “Stupid worm thing. Everything hurts.”

 

“I’m so sorry, Willow. I should have been more careful.”

 

“Shut up. You know it wasn’t your fault.”

 

“Oh. Um, sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize! Jeez!”

 

He was about to say “sorry” again, but caught himself.

 

“Well, I think I’m gonna turn in,” Willow said. “Can’t wait for that breakfast. Smells good!”

 

“Gotta get through the night first,” Wilson muttered. He watched as Willow scooted into the tent, then dawdled for a bit to avoid getting in himself. Why was he sweating so much in the cold?

 

“C’mon in, Wilson. I’m freezing.”

 

Wilson took a deep breath, wiped his hands on his pants, and crawled in. It was a bit cramped, but not awful. There was enough room to turn back and forth and stretch out your legs. Still, the two were pressed close together, face to beard.

 

“Mmm. This is nice,” Willow murmured, curling up. “Almost comfy.”

 

“Ha. Yeah.”

 

“Well, good night, Wilson.”

 

“Night.” But he was miles away from sleep. He’d never slept this close to anyone before--heck, he wasn’t sure if he’d even  _ been  _ this close to anyone before--and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. He liked his personal space, and from what he had gathered, Willow did too. Well, desperate times. It  _ was  _ pretty cold out, and they both needed sleep. 

 

He looked down at her calm, relaxed face. It was a bit more flushed than usual, probably owing to the extra warmth. Her mouth was just slightly open as she breathed deeply, and some of her black hair was tousled around her ears. He tried to stop the incoming un-scientific and un-survivalist thought from breaching his conscious, but he couldn’t. She just looked too cute.

 

Wilson smiled drowsily as he allowed himself that one very quick thought.  _ It’s really only science, too,  _ he thought as he curled up. She did encompass many of the qualities commonly found as enticing by the general populace--rosy cheeks, big eyes, symmetrical features. Yeah, totally normal. She _was_ cute. It was a scientific fact.  _ It’s nothing… personal,  _ he reminded himself one last time.  _ It’s all just science. _


	7. A Day at the Base

The next day dawned cold, but calm. Willow’s eyes cracked open for a moment, and for the first time in many days she couldn’t figure out where she was. Once she finally realized where she was, it took her a while to remember why Wilson was there. Not that she minded him being there; she couldn’t remember feeling so warm and comfortable since she had come here. Despite the scraggly beard that was growing more caveman-like by the day, Wilson looked plain adorable when he was asleep. He was curled up into a fetal position with his palm acting as a pillow. There were no worry lines on his forehead, no scrunched-up or raised eyebrows, and even the dark circles under his eyes seemed to have faded a bit.

 

_ Damn. He  _ did _ need some sleep.  _ Willow prepared to nudge him awake so he could get their breakfast ready, then hesitated. He looked so peaceful. After yesterday, she thought, maybe she could allow him to sleep in.

 

She sighed and began to carefully crawl out of the tent. Once she was out, she lifted the tent flap to peek at him. Not one twitch. He was down for the count.

 

Willow turned towards the camp and was greeted by a delicious smell wafting from the crock pot. She whipped the lid off (disregarding the burns she should have gotten from the hot stone) and was delighted to see two platters of bacon and eggs, piping hot and ready to eat. Again, she went to go wake Wilson… but again, something stopped her. He had done so much for her yesterday--breaking into the sinkhole, saving her from the cave-worm, patching up her wounds, “inventing” the crock pot. She felt as though she owed him a little favor. But what could she do? After mulling it over for a moment, her gaze fell on the icebox and her face lit up.

 

A few minutes later, Wilson was awakened by the cheerful crackling of a fire and a delicious, sticky-sweet smell. It was a good thing, too, because he had almost panicked when he realized Willow was no longer next to him. Rubbing his eyes (which were already regaining their dark circles), Wilson opened the flap to the tent to see Willow putting the final touches on their breakfast.

 

“Miss Willow?”

 

“Oh! Wilson!” She turned to face him and smiled. “Surprise! I made… uh… a treat. I thought it would go well with breakfast?”

 

Wilson’s mouth watered. “Good old-fashioned fist-full-o’-jam? Willow, that’s perfect! Can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

 

Her smile widened, and Wilson almost looked behind him to see if there was some kind of forest fire he couldn’t see. “Wham, bam, jam! Thank you… man.” She giggled.

 

After their fabulous breakfast, the two began their (hopefully) quiet day at the base. Wilson started opening their chests to see how many materials they had and what they needed to get more of. Willow went about setting up and baiting their traps. Having finished that, she started to whip up some more tooth traps.

 

“Um, Willow, could you pass me the hounds’ teeth?” Wilson asked, looking up from his task.

 

“Oh, sure. What for?” Willow handed over a pile of the gleaming fangs.

 

“A… um… sewing kit.” He pointedly avoided her gaze.

 

“Oh, right! Gosh, I forgot about this.” She stared dejectedly at her shredded blouse. “Here.”

 

“Here what? I--” The words died in his throat as Willow shucked off her shirt and threw it at him. It hit him square in his unflinching face.

 

“Uh… nice reflexes?” She giggled.

 

“I’m… I’m  _ not looking _ !!” He grabbed the shirt (which matched the color of his ears) and busied himself with the sewing kit. He wasn’t thinking about her thin white shoulders, nor her black lace camisole, and  _ certainly  _ not the sizable swell of her chest within that undergarment.

 

Willow’s flutey laugh rang through the cold air. “Oh, Wilson, relax. It’s survival, not a social function.”

 

He had to laugh at that, although his heart was still beating in his throat. “I always hated fancy parties anyhow.” His hands moved without him even thinking, guiding bits of bone and silk into needles and thread. Drat! Now even science wasn’t distracting him.  _ Don’t think about her chest. Don’t think about her chest. Don’t… _ wait, was this counterproductive? Was this making him think  _ more  _ about…? By the time he had worked through the mental dilemma, he was finished sewing up the shirt.

 

“All done!” Wilson announced. He handed the mended garment back to her while dramatically shielding his eyes. Willow laughed and pulled on the battered blouse.

 

“Feels good as almost-new. Thanks, Wilson!”

 

“Don’t mention it!” Now that  _ that _ confusing business was over, it was time to return to their inventory. He wanted to organize their materials better, so he started to fashion some boards for an extra chest for materials that didn’t belong anywhere else. Willow continued working on the tooth traps and soon began crafting recipes for the crock pot.

 

Before they knew it, the sun was setting. Still, they had gotten in quite a bit of housekeeping. Their base was almost completely surrounded by traps (which had already provided them with a few rabbit morsels), their materials and food were properly organized, and Wilson had begun planting some pine cones for a head start on wood when winter was over. The crock pot had been cooking all different types of food for the long season ahead--fruit medleys, meatballs, froggle bunwiches and plenty of trail mix.

 

“How about some dinner?” Willow wheedled. “C’mon, it’s getting cold.”

 

Wilson laughed. “No need to convince me. I’m starving!” He rooted around in the ice box and pulled out two bunwiches and two fist-fulls of jam. Willow threw a few logs on the fire and gladly accepted her portion of the meal.

 

“Mmmm… so good!” Willow’s eyes rolled back into her head in a food-induced bliss. “It’s better than what I had back home!”

 

“Same here,” Wilson agreed with his mouth full.

 

Willow frowned. Didn’t he come from a higher society? Why would this be good food to him? “What exactly was your life like before… this?” She dared.

 

Wilson sighed. He missed his old life dearly, but thinking too much about it depressed him. Fur rolls were comfy enough, but they were nothing compared to his bed. “I mostly stayed inside all day and performed experiments. I could never get enough science! I was in a rut when Maxwell tricked me.” He shook his head. “I should have just stuck to the basics, but I missed the thrill of discovery.”

 

“Sounds pretty boring.” Willow clapped a hand to her mouth. She was generally callous with words, but being so rude to Wilson felt uncalled for. “Sorry, just slipped out.”

 

Wilson gave a weak grin. “It’s alright. That life’s not for everyone. What about you?”

 

“No, wait! Tell me more. What sort of experiments did you do?”

 

Wilson’s eyes lit up, which Willow found adorable. “Well, it may sound boring to you, but I developed a method to burn low-grade bituminous coal more effectively. I was actually given a research grant by a college for that.”

 

“Wow, really? A college? Which one? And how did you burn the coal?” 

 

Wilson laughed. “You don’t have to pretend to be interested, you know.”

 

“No, really! It actually sounds kinda cool,” Willow giggled. “I do love things that burn.”

 

“Well, basically I invented a sort of generator that burned the coal at a slower rate so as to reduce air pollution and glean more energy from the rock. Then I invented a second component that re-formed the burnt fragments into a viable firestarter. But,” he continued courteously, “you’re certainly a better one.”

 

Willow stuck out her tongue, then quickly looked away to hide her blush. “Shut up.”

 

He chuckled. “Sorry. It’s true, though. You’re good at what you do.”

 

“Not as good as you are at science! I can’t even imagine being that smart.”

 

Wilson’s face turned stony all of a sudden, which was definitely not what Willow was hoping for with that last comment. “Not smart enough to avoid getting tricked, apparently.”

 

“What...  happened? How did you get tricked?” She couldn’t believe she had never asked him that. At least he remembered what had happened.

 

“Well, I was in a rut. Some nitrous oxide blew up in my face for the third time and I just got so frustrated!” Wilson thought back to that moment, how he had been thinking to try just about  _ anything  _ new to get rid of that feeling. “And then I heard something from the radio… It sounded like it was talking to me. It said it could share valuable information with me if I was ready for it, and… well, I trusted it.” He paused.

 

“Well… did it give you information?” Willow asked timidly. She’d never seen him so serious before… almost angry.

 

Wilson laughed darkly. “Oh, of course. It told me how to build a door. I didn’t even care what it was for; I was just happy it was working, and that I was doing things right for a change.” He paused again, this time more thoughtfully. “Looking back, maybe I should have guessed it was a bad idea when I had to add my blood for it to work.”

 

Despite the situation, Willow giggled. Wilson cracked a grin, then continued: “So I pulled the lever, and the door never actually opened, but then these shadow hands appeared and just pulled me right through the floor!” He shuddered. “And now here I am.”

 

Willow nodded somberly, dreading his next question.

 

“What about you?” He asked, inevitably. “What’s your story, Miss Willow?”

 

She smiled at the honorific and took a bite of jam to buy time.

 

“Oh, you know… went to school, Girl Scouts, worked at a candle shop. Normal stuff.” He didn’t have to know that she never had friends at school or Scouts or that she got fired from her job for burning through a fortune of merchandise. Out there, he was some kind of respected scientist—a genius, even. Maybe he would be impressed that she earned all the Girl Scout badges?

 

An alarming thought suddenly struck Wilson when she mentioned her past. He was in his thirties. Was this girl still a teenager? “School? Girl Scouts? How old are you?” 

 

“Oh, I mean, not for a while. When I was a kid I did Scouts. I’m twenty-two now.”

 

Wilson laughed, trying not to show his relief. She  _ was _ younger than him, but at least she wasn’t a kid. “Oh, really? That’s funny, I’m thirty-three.”

 

“Thirty-three?” It sounded either too old or too young. Wilson looked somewhat young, with his thick, wild hair and now-muscular frame, not to mention his adorable little outbursts about science. In fact, at times he acted and looked so young she doubted he was truly a scientist. However, his hooked nose and deep black eyes rimmed by dark circles seemed to belong to a much older man. (The beard, while seasonal, spoke for itself.) Plus, he  _ was  _ quite intelligent--a college had even offered him a grant. “And you’re already slaving over experiments all day and getting research grants?”

 

Wilson shrugged. “It’s all I ever wanted to do.”  _ Twenty-two, huh?  _ He didn’t know what he would have guessed. Her pigtails and youthful fascination with fire did make her seem a bit younger, but her face was too angular and her body too… developed for her to be a child. 

 

He shook out the weird last thought with a sad sigh. “Do you think we’ll ever get out of here?”

 

Willow shrugged. “Who knows? I’m in no hurry to get back. My life wasn’t great. And look at you! You’re still doing science stuff, right?”

 

Wilson laughed dryly. “I’d prefer to do science stuff without the threat of hounds, thanks very much.”

 

“True.”

 

The wind howled through the camp, jolting them back into survival mode.

 

“Brrr. Stoke the fire, Willow?”

 

“Of course.” She threw on a grass tuft and grinned as the fire roared.

 

“It’s getting late,” Wilson said as he got to his feet. “I think I’m going to sleep again tonight.”

 

“Really? Again?”

 

“I can’t see there being very much to do after the daylight’s gone. I think we’re going to be sleeping a lot more this season. Besides, all this dark isn’t good for our mental health.” He gazed out over the snowy landscape. “We should stick close to the base for the most part, especially for the first few days. Just to be safe.”

 

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.” She paused. “But, um, I was thinking of sleeping tonight too.”

 

“Oh? Well, um, I guess we could double up again.”

 

She laughed. “It won’t be too bad. It was pretty comfy last night.”

 

“That’s true. I slept like a rock.”

 

“Let’s turn in, then.”

 

Wilson crawled in first, followed by Willow. However, neither were as tired as they had been the previous night. There was no immediate falling asleep. They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment.

 

“Sorry you have to put up with my beard,” Wilson winced. “It’s getting a bit out of hand.”

 

Willow laughed. “I don’t mind.” It helped keep him, and by extension her, warm. She closed her eyes and listened to him breathing. But she wasn’t sleepy. In fact, she hadn’t even planned on sleeping tonight until he announced that he was going to be.

 

She blushed at what that implied, but it was true. Sleeping next to him had been wonderful. And it wasn’t just the warmth either, although that was certainly played a part. It was the fact that he cared about her and trusted her enough to lie next to her, solid proof that this older and intelligent man cared so much for her well-being that he would forgo his gentlemanly modesty. 

 

And yet… that still wasn’t it. Not all of it, anyway.

 

She had never lain this close to anyone, let alone a man. An older, distinguished, and… handsome man.

 

Willow felt her cheeks grow hot again and hoped he wouldn’t notice. He  _ was _ handsome, even with the dark circles and crow’s feet and shaggy beard. He was handsome and he cared about her. He had carried her on his back all the way out of the caves, cooked for her, fixed her clothes…. Being around him made her heart just as warm and jumpy as a fire did.

 

Less than a foot away, Wilson was struggling with his own sleep-repelling thoughts. For some reason, when she had lain down next to him, he’d had to fight the urge to throw his arm around her. He had no idea why, and that scared him. Was it an evolutionary, instinctual thing? Was he trying to keep her warm? God, how would she have reacted?

 

She was twenty-two. More than ten years younger. And, yes, she was pretty. Her features were conventionally attractive, and he appreciated them. It helped, surely, that he had practically no basis for comparison. Due to the fact that she appeared to be the only girl in the world, she was automatically the prettiest. And… well, it wasn’t like he had met many women before, anyway. But the attraction seemed to be growing somehow, to his consternation. Was  _ that  _ an evolutionary measure? Alone with a girl for a long time, hunting and gathering and… sleeping next to each other?

 

Wilson began to sweat. Science was betraying him. It  _ was  _ an evolutionary measure. His body seemed to think that the next step to surviving was procreation.

 

_ Now, there’s no need to panic _ , Wilson thought, panicking.  _ Just think about her as a person. Yes. Think about how she loves fire, and smells like ashes and cinnamon. She’s a good fighter. Adventurous! Thinks lots of things are stupid. But doesn’t think I’m stupid. Laughs at my jokes. Works well with me. Watches her language around me. Cares about what I do…  _

 

_ Damn it _ . He had only made things worse. There was no scientific explanation for an attraction on the emotional or psychological level. That is, unless he wanted to try to scientifically define…  _ Love _ ? He swallowed hard, feeling dizzy. He felt a strange prickling on the back of his neck, blood rushing from his head, and blinked hard to try to clear his mind. But it was too late.

 

 _It… It’s just because I’m male, and she’s female, and we’re… well… alone. It’s just primal instinct. It’s just primal instinct that I’m… attracted to her. And… yes, I’m biologically aroused, I guess._ God, even if it was rationalized, he couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t even remember the last time this had happened. It must have been before undergrad, when he was still a teenager. _Wait… that’s it_! Grad school! There was nothing more draining of a man’s emotions than that cesspool!

 

Wilson focused every bit of his mental energy on the memories of power-hungry doctors and alchemists-in-training, of the endless nights spent buried in thick books, of the hours and hours spent dissecting cats and frogs. Soon, he felt his cheeks flush as his feelings became more regulated.

 

He winced. Yes, he was going to be a bit sore for a little while--it had to do with all the blood and pressure in that area. But, God, at least he didn’t have to lie there next to Willow feeling like a sexually frustrated caveman.

  
Just to be safe, though, he rolled onto his other side.


	8. Temporary Solution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry this is so late (and short); I've gotten really caught up with work lately. Thank you so much to everyone who left kudos and especially to the reviewers. You guys were so kind and I really didn't expect anyone to like this story very much. Stick around; there will be a conclusion!

Winter in this strange new world certainly made things more difficult, but there was some degree of comfort in knowing that winter here was the same as winter back home--awful, that was. The same bitter, sluggish mornings, lonely nights, and frozen toes that Wilson and Willow had suffered in their old lives combined with their growing knowledge of this world lent some degree of familiarity and normalcy to their routine.

 

Their days consisted of stocking up on resources, carefully mapping out places to explore in the coming seasons (as well as preparing for whatever horrors they could expect in them), and coming up with new inventions (for Wilson) and experimenting with the magical properties of the mysterious gems they had found while gravedigging (for Willow).

 

Besides the cold and the decreased exploration, however, there was a new aspect added to their lives: sleeping. Namely, sleeping together. Wilson had been correct in his assumption that this season would bring on more sleep. After all, there really wasn’t much to do after dark, and that period of darkness was now much longer. Also, thanks to the crock pot and their traps, the problem of food was basically nullified.

 

Wilson had been growing more and more comfortable with sleeping next to Willow. At least, there had been no more incidents like the one on the second night! In fact, he had come almost to…  _ expect  _ it. It didn’t seem like a problem until one night deep into the season when Willow announced that she would be staying up.

 

“This is such a beautiful fire,” she explained, her eyes greedily taking in the dancing flames. “I think I’m good tonight.”

 

“Are… are you sure?” Wilson asked, surprising himself with the hint of longing in his voice.

 

“Yeah,” she responded immediately, her face going slack as it was bathed in the heat.

 

Wilson sighed and crawled into the tent, hugging his knees to his chest. The tent was cozy, sure, but it was a lot cozier with Willow there. For the warmth, of course. Not at all because of her smell, or the tickle of her hair, or her soft breathing, or….

 

Wilson actually had to pinch his thigh, hard, to stop himself from completing the thought.  _ Not  _ now,  _ man!  _ He chastised himself. He had been doing so well. Was this… separation anxiety? No, no, she was right there outside. He could see her shadow reflected on the inside of the tent.  _ Dammit _ . Things were getting harder and harder to explain with science.

 

Speaking of harder… 

 

Wilson buried his burning face in his hands.  _ Well, at least she’s not  _ here  _ this time _ , he thought in resignation.  _ Why  _ was this happening?! 

 

_ It’s because you love her, idiot,  _ a voice in his head told him. 

 

_ Shut up _ , the scientist replied to himself.  _ Look, even if I  _ do  _ have feelings for her, they shouldn’t be this strong! And… physical! This is just embarrassing.  _ Besides, this unfortunate arousal was proving even more difficult to dispel than the first. Even thinking of grad school wasn’t doing the trick. Well… no, that wasn’t quite true. It was more like he couldn’t get Willow out of his head this time. Dammit, now he was thinking of her  _ at  _ grad school! He shook his head wildly at the dangerous mental image that was forming of a bespectacled Willow in a lab coat twirling a pencil around her fingers.  _ Lab coats are  _ not  _ sexual _ ! he screamed at whatever part of his mind that was conjuring the image.

 

Wilson laid there in stubborn, uncomfortable mental duress for a very long time, silently cursing the forces (and urges) of nature. Eventually, he peeked out of the tent flap at Willow. She didn’t even turn her head; she was completely mesmerized by the flames.

 

Justifying to himself that the odds of her snapping out of her reverie, deciding to walk over to the tent, and opening the flap all without him noticing were slim to none, Wilson made the executive decision to do something about his situation. After quietly securing the tent flap closed, Wilson carefully laid down on his back and began to unbutton his pants.

 

_ Biology, biology, biology,  _ he repeated to himself like some sort of prayer. God, it must have been years since he’d last done this… before undergrad, even. Pausing for a moment to make sure there was absolutely no movement from outside the tent besides the crackling fire, Wilson slowly eased his trousers down his legs. Not willing to fully expose himself in the cold just yet, he simply maneuvered his hand inside the slit in his underwear and began to stroke himself. 

 

Despite the decidedly undesirable circumstances, it felt amazingly good. Only slightly worried as his thoughts began to cloud over, Wilson wrapped his hand around his length and pulled himself out of his pants. Sighing, he started to stroke more firmly, enjoying the pleasurable heat that was growing in his loins. The small voice in his head yelling at him that this was  _ wrong  _ was growing more quiet by the minute, which only caused him to pump harder.

 

Wilson pressed his other hand to his mouth in an attempt to stifle the surprising moans that he could no longer hold back. Images of Willow, cheeks flushed and lips just slightly parted, flashed through his mind without provocation. His strokes were becoming more frantic, his breathing more labored. Feeling himself getting close, he grabbed a handful of cut grass for when the time came. Letting out a small grunt, he felt a wave of bliss pass over his body as he finished.

 

For a few minutes, Wilson could do little more than lie on the ground panting as he struggled to bring his brain back to the barest hint of functionality. Finally, he managed to sit up with a groan and wipe himself off with the handful of grass. Pausing for a moment to make sure he could still see Willow’s shadow reflecting off the tent, he pulled his pants up and collapsed back to the ground.

 

_ Well, good for you. You did it. Disgusting. How could you think those things about her? She’s your  _ friend _ , you perverted piece of-- _

 

_ Shut up _ , Wilson growled at the part of his brain that was chastising him.  _ Enough _ . This night had been difficult enough without his own mind working against him. He deserved a break. In the morning, he could beat himself up about it.


	9. Winter is not Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, yes, I'm alive! Here's a short crappy chapter; I'll try to get the good stuff out soon! Thanks for sticking with me, you guys rock!

The next morning seemed to dawn a bit earlier than usual. Frowning, Wilson moved the tent flap aside. Honestly, at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if the days arbitrarily became longer or shorter.

 

_ Wait a moment _ . Winter had come on surprisingly quickly, hadn’t it? The days had just started getting colder, and… how long had it been?

 

As he struggled his way out of the tent, Wilson flew through a series of calculations in his head, barely remembering to be grateful for the scientific information that blocked the errant thoughts of the previous night. Winter had come after approximately three weeks. It had only been a little over two weeks, but this seemed to be a temperate region. Were winters shorter here, perhaps? The nights did seem to be getting shorter—yes, he had definitely been less hungry than before in the mornings over the past few days. He checked the thermometer.

 

“Yes!” He shouted, only realizing his mistake when he heard a low grumble beneath him.

 

“Are you really that happy to wake me up?” Willow scowled, rubbing her eyes.

 

“I’m… so sorry, Willow, it’s just… I think winter might be ending!”

 

Willow blinked. “Wait. What? For real?”

 

“Look!” He pointed at his concrete evidence. “It hasn’t been that high in ages!”

 

“You’re right.” Her eyes widened. “Maybe that’s why the fire was so big last night! It’s warmer out!”

 

“Yes, yes, maybe…” He was distracted, looking around at the camp. “Is… is there less snow on the ground?”

 

“Jeez, you’re right. That’s why I was so comfy outside. It wasn’t all wet.”

 

“Willow!” Wilson exclaimed, doing a tiny jump. “Winter might be over!”

 

“Thank  _ god _ .” Willow leaned back onto a log. “It’s about time.”

 

“Logically, spring will follow. That probably means rain. That’s good for crops, but as for my hair—”

 

“Jeez, Wilson! Can’t you take a break for a hot minute?” Willow stretched her arms above her head. “Relax about spring. Let’s have some breakfast and be happy about the maybe-end of winter, huh?”

 

Wilson opened his mouth, then closed it and decided to smile instead. “You know what? Let’s. Or I can just keep my ramblings to myself.”

 

“Ha-ha. How about some jam?”

 

“Sounds… peachy.”

 

Willow giggled and walked to the icebox.

 

***

The signs of the impending end of winter kept coming and coming. The snow was falling less and melting more, the thermometer was slowly creeping upwards, the redbirds began appearing, and the bees—although worryingly colored—were beginning to leave their hives again.

 

A few days after Wilson’s initial hypothesis, the two of the woke to find that the palette of their world had changed from bluish gray to deep green. The birchnut trees were heavy with jade-colored leaves, and flowers were sprouting everywhere.

 

Wilson was stoking the fire and glancing apprehensively at the graying clouds in the sky when a hail of confetti suddenly rained down over his head and shoulders.  

 

“We did it!” Willow crowed as she threw another handful petal confetti into the air. “We survived winter, Wilson! We really did it! Officially!”

 

“We really did do it,” Wilson murmured, still not quite believing that the snow was actually melting, that the horrible winter was really over.

 

“Thanks to you! We never could have done it without you!” She punched him playfully on the shoulder.

 

“Oh, hush, Willow. You know you helped just as much.”

 

“Still! I can’t believe it!” Willow flopped down next to Wilson and they grinned crazily at each other. Looking at her smile, Wilson had a thought.

 

“Know what this means?” He asked.

 

“What?”

 

“I can shave my beard!”

 

Willow laughed, rolling on her back. “Finally!”

 

Smiling, Wilson dug an old razor out of one of their chests and began shaving off his behemoth of a beard, carefully saving the hair in case they needed it for a later project. “How do I look?”

 

Willow took one look and burst into laughter, covering her mouth. He had nicks all over his face and random amounts of stubble everywhere. He looked like he’d rolled in dark Beefalo fur.

 

Wilson grinned sheepishly, scratching his face. “That bad? Wish I had a mirror.” He realized then that he hadn't seen his own face ever since he'd been here.

 

“No, wait, it’s okay. Let me do it.” Willow took the razor and cupped Wilson’s chin in her hand.

 

“Sure you know what you’re doing?”

 

“Nope.” But she was careful as could be as she groomed Wilson’s patchy stubble, hoping he didn’t notice that she was stealing glances into his dark eyes whenever she could.

 

He never did. He was trying to hard to rationalize how good it felt to have her touch him like this, to be so close to her. She smelled clean and sweet and unmistakably female, like flowers and fresh water, and her hand was soft and smooth on his face. A girl had never been this close to him before. He felt a bit woozy… was something causing a lack of bloodflow to the brain…? 

 

_ Oh, god. Please. Not again. Not now.  _ He glanced at a rabbit and longed to disappear into the Kingdom of the Bunnymen instead of kneeling here with pants that were all of a sudden tight and uncomfortable.

 

“Something wrong?” Willow asked as she noticed him swallow hard.

 

“What? Uh… oh, no, nothing.” He flexed his arms, trying to divert blood flow elsewhere.  _ Come on, work! Is this a medical myth? _

 

She finished cleaning up his face by wiping it with some cut grass, and it almost hurt how handsome he looked. His wild dark hair, his sharp cheekbones, his large black eyes…

 

His large black eyes that were staring deeply into hers…

 

Before she could even decide if the look was intentional, Wilson looked away and cleared his throat. “Well. Hm. Back to business.” He hunched a bit as he stood.

 

“What business?” Willow asked. “Why are you standing like that?”

 

“I, uh, slept wrong.”

 

“And it affected your legs?”

 

“I feel, um, stiff?”  _ Oh, great word choice, Higgsbury. Come on, man, concentrate! Survival! _

 

“Oh. Uh, okay.”


	10. A Climactic Night

As Wilson had predicted, spring meant rain. It also meant short days, oddly, and long dusks. After whipping them up some pretty parasols out of petals in a pinch, Wilson was eventually able to make some sturdier umbrellas out of pig skins, along with some hats made out of moleworms.

 

Although it was much easier to travel without the snow everywhere, spring definitely wasn’t a cakewalk. Too much rain could chill them easily, there were frogs everywhere, and to top it off, the Beefalo were in heat. Nonetheless, the two tried to carry out their exploring plans as best they could.

 

After getting their bearings (and rain gear, and trail mix, and weapons), the two began to trek through some areas they hadn’t visited yet. They found another deciduous forest, a small gully of frog ponds, a rocky biome (luckily, as they’d been running low on nitre), and a field dotted with beehives and flowers. After running from a horde of killer bees, Willow firmly suggested that they return to the camp for a bit. Wilson readily agreed.

 

Back at camp, though, there wasn’t a whole lot left to do besides start whipping up some gunpowder. They had plenty of food, plenty of raw materials, and there wasn’t much left to craft. Wilson desperately tried to search for something else to make with the nitre in order to occupy his mind, but had little luck. Willow suggested an endothermic fire, but the two of them were a bit too chilly to risk it.

 

As they finished a quiet (and, mercifully, rain-free) dinner of berries and dragonpie, Willow caught herself wondering why Wilson was so adamant on keeping himself busy. She hadn’t had much experience with men before, but from her own experience, she knew that lighting fires had always helped her take her mind off something annoyingly emotional. 

 

...was she emotionally annoying him? She hoped not. She tried to steal a glance at Wilson’s dark eyes again—at the same time he tried to steal a glance at her wide pale ones.

 

Willow inhaled sharply, her heart hiccuping, as Wilson turned quickly away. “Uh… I’m… um, sorry,” he stammered. “I’m tired.”

 

“Sorry about what?” Willow pressed hopefully, scooting a bit closer. That was no accident. He had definitely been looking at her, and his expression hadn’t suggested annoyance.

 

“Oh… um… I thought I made you uncomfortable. It’s scientifically proven, you know, that direct eye contact can make people very uncomfortable.”

 

“I wasn’t uncomfortable,” Willow replied softly.

 

Wilson took a deep breath. “Oh. Um. You weren’t?”

 

“Nope. In fact, I… kind of liked it.” She paused. “Why were you looking at me, anyway?”

 

“Oh… uh, no reason. I just… um…” His brain had turned to mush. There was only one option.  _ Just tell the truth. It’s logical. What’s the worst that can happen _ ? “I… I like your eyes. They’re… very interesting. Quite beautiful.” He coughed. “You could say I find them physically attractive.”

 

“Yours are too. Physically attractive, I mean. Your eyes.” Her cheeks burning from something other than the fire, Willow looked up, but he was staring straight ahead, into the fire. “Is… is the rest of me physically attractive?”

 

“Wh-what?” Wilson gave a short burst of laughter. “Wh-why do you ask that?”

 

If he thought it, he wouldn’t admit it. She had to take the plunge. “Well…  _ I _ find the rest of  _ you _ … physically attractive.”

 

His head snapped up and his lovely black eyes bored into hers. Her heartbeat seemed to quicken, although Wilson had told her that wasn’t very common when not being hunted. “Really? You do? Well… um…” He coughed. “I do… find the rest of you physically attractive. I mean, you’re technically the prettiest girl in the world.” Willow lit up, and he hastily tried to explain. “I mean… because… there’s no one else. I mean, of course I’m attracted to you. I’m a male, and, well, you’re a female, and—”

 

Whatever that thought was going to be, Willow’s lips prevented him from finishing it. Through his surprise, he managed to note that they were surprisingly soft and tasted faintly of dragonfruit. He was immeasurably disappointed when she pulled away after only a second.

 

He stared at her, and for a second she worried that she had ruined it, but then his lips were back on hers, with more force this time, and his arms were around her waist, pulling her close, and her hands were entwined in his beautiful thick hair, pulling him closer. Neither of them questioned what was happening, at least not immediately—both had initiated, and they knew the other wanted it. 

 

Every kiss was measured yet passionate, and just a little sloppy—absolutely perfect each time. Wilson’s hands, strong and callused from weeks of living off the land, roamed Willow’s body, traveling upwards from her waist—slowly, so she could have time to stop him if she wanted. It turned out she wanted just the opposite, gently pushing his hands towards her chest. 

 

In his thirty-three years, Wilson had never had a girlfriend, or even a girl friend, except for Willow. He’d never known how amazing it felt to massage a girl’s breasts as she moaned. He felt, once again, a rush of blood leave his head and thicken between his thighs. He hoped Willow wouldn’t notice, not yet at least, but they were so close that she felt it in an instant.

 

“Oh!” She gasped, breaking apart from him.  _ Is that why he was hunching over earlier?  _ It was surprisingly flattering.

 

“I-I’m sorry,” Wilson stammered, shifting his legs in an effort to hide his arousal.

 

“No, it’s… it’s okay, I was just surprised.” She leaned in to kiss him again, but moved her hands downwards and began gently stroking him through his pants. He couldn’t stop a small gasp as his hands encircled her shoulders, bringing her even closer to him.

 

“That… that feels so good,” he whispered. His heartbeat was quickening; he’d needed to pull away to breathe.

 

“Does it?”

 

“God, yes.”

 

“I… I’ve never done anything like this before.”

 

“Neither have I.”

 

Willow looked up at him, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed. She started to unbutton her blouse.

 

“You…” He meant to say “you don’t have to,” but he was silenced as she pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her thin white shoulders and a black camisole. Transfixed, he watched as she slipped off the thin straps of the undershirt and pulled it down to her stomach.

 

Her breasts were small, like the rest of her, and just as beautiful as he’d imagined. Automatically he reached for them and brushed his fingers over the sensitive nipples as he pulled her into another kiss. She shivered and moaned as he worked his rough hands over her bare skin. 

 

“Do you mind if I try something?” He breathed as they gasped for air.

 

“Go ahead,” Willow whispered, giddy with excitement.

 

Hesitating for just a moment, he dipped his head down and took her left breast in his mouth, gently sucking and nibbling as she gasped.

 

“Oh… keep doing that, Wilson. It feels so good.”

 

He moved on to the other one, playing with the first absentmindedly with his fingers. After a while, he pulled away and looked at her, asking permission for something else.

 

By way of an answer, Willow pulled the undershirt over her head and kicked off her boots. Slowly, she stripped off her long stockings and finally stepped out of her skirt.

 

She stood in front of him, pale and blushing and naked, shyly looking up at him for approval.

 

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He stepped towards her and put his arm around her waist, dipping her into a deep kiss. As he broke apart, he continued lowering her down to the straw roll until she was laying flat save one of his arms wrapped around her back. He kissed her again, not quite as deep, then moved his head down to nibble at her neck. Willow sighed and arched her head back.

 

Slowly, he began kissing down her body, from her collarbone to each of her breasts to the dip of her stomach, before moving down even further. He pulled his head up a bit and repositioned himself.

 

“Sure you know what you’re doing?” Willow asked coyly.

 

Wilson smiled. “Nope.” He had seen many diagrams while studying biology, but of course he’d never done anything like this. He just knew all the scientific names for what lay in front of him.

 

Willow wouldn’t have known any of that, though; he certainly didn’t show any signs of inexperience. He stroked her center gently before slipping one finger in, curling it, and drawing it out. As she moaned, he added a second finger.

 

After a while, he drew them both out and placed both his hands on her thighs. She felt his tongue, hot against her entrance, and gasped, instinctively pressing her hips up to meet him. He responded in turn, driving deeper into her. Eventually, he moved upwards, pushing aside her hood and gently sucking on the sensitive area underneath, making her buck her hips and throw her head back.

 

After a while, Willow sat up. Wilson immediately drew back and wiped his mouth, confused and worried.

 

“Don’t worry; you’re doing fine,” she reassured him. “I just want to do something for you.”

 

Drawing herself up on her knees, she pushed Wilson down to a sitting position. He straightened out his legs and inhaled sharply as Willow knelt between his knees and started to unbuckle his belt. She massaged him through his pants a bit, then pulled them down and revealed Wilson’s manhood to all the world. She gasped softly.

 

Wilson looked away, embarrassed. “What?”

 

“I… I don’t know. It’s kind of big.”

 

“It’s only average. Six inches. I—ah!”

 

He forgot whatever useless nonsense he was going to say as Willow took the head into her mouth and teased it with her tongue. Wilson closed his eyes in ecstasy as she began to suck, slowly bobbing her head up and down and gagging slightly whenever she took in the full length. Her mouth was warm and wet, and he had never felt so good in his life. He opened his eyes and saw her watching steadily from below, stroking him with her hand as she sucked on the head. Almost unaware of what he was doing, he put his hand on his head and ran his fingers through her hair, moaning as she quickened her pace.

 

After a while, Wilson cried “Stop!”

 

Willow snapped up immediately, her pale eyes a bit watery. “What?”

 

“Y-you were going to make me…” He didn’t want to end that sentence, and didn’t need to. Willow nodded and lay back down, parting her legs. Wilson, uncomfortably hot, stripped off his vest and shirt. Willow was happily surprised as how muscular he was, and wanted him more than ever as he positioned himself on top of her.

 

Wilson looked into her eyes. “Are you ready?”

 

“God, yes,” she moaned. 

 

Wilson nodded, raised himself up and slowly began to enter her. She took a sharp breath.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Yes, it just… feels strange.” It hurt a bit, but nothing too bad.

 

Wilson pushed in, slowly, making sure she was comfortable, and pulled out just as carefully. He kept going slowly for the first few strokes, until Willow whispered “Faster.”

 

Wilson raised himself up and thrust into her, not too quick at first, but gaining speed as she relaxed more and let out small gasps after every thrust. He leaned down and kissed her deeply as he went even faster, feeling her heart beat under his chest. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, and Wilson felt himself getting close.

 

“Willow… I’m… I’m going to…”

 

“Come inside,” she whispered, and that was all he needed.

 

Willow felt him throb and gasped as a jet of warmth filled her. Exhausted, he rested his head on her shoulder and rolled off her.

 

“I… I’m sorry if that wasn’t satisfying… to you,” he said in a strained voice.

 

“Oh, no… it was wonderful, Wilson,” Willow whispered as she curled up with her head on his muscular chest.

 

“Oh… good. I’m glad.”

 

They lay there in silence. After a while, Wilson pulled his pants up and rolled on his side to face her.

 

“God, you’re beautiful, Willow,” he said, cupping her face in his hand and gazing at her so lovingly it spread a warmth throughout her whole body. “You're so beautiful, and kind, and gentle… I… I love you. So much.”

 

“Wilson,” she murmured, running her hands over his stomach. “You're so handsome, you're so, so smart.” She thought of how cautious and careful he had been. “I love you. Please stay with me. Always.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Can we... do this again, sometime?”

 

“Of course.”

 

And at that moment, neither of them really cared if they ever got out of this place, or found Maxwell, or found anyone else for that matter. They had each other. They had a friend. And even, perhaps, more than that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me, y'all! Feedback, as always, is appreciated. This is also my first time writing anything ~raunchy,~ so bear with me.


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